Some Inexorable Bond
by Bjara
Summary: Specters of the past maintain their grip on Jaina Proudmoore, especially as she helps to prepare the Alliance for their assault on Icecrown Citadel in Northrend.
1. Chapter 1

Grey mist hung thickly in the air around a snowy precipice, which the Argent Crusade had claimed for themselves after a long battle against the Scourge and renamed Crusader's Pinnacle. The outpost had been meant to be a bastion of light in that dead stretch of land surrounding Icecrown, but gazing outward toward the foggy, towering spectre of the Lich King's citadel, Lady Jaina Proudmoore only felt dread. Doubt.

_Poisonous thinking, _the mage thought, shaking her head and drawing her fur-lined cloak closer to her slender frame.

"Do you think of him still?" said a gentle voice from behind her. Jaina did not turn to the speaker—it belonged to Lorena, the colonel of Theramore's forces and one of the very few from whom she would tolerate such a question.

"Only of the monster he has become," Jaina replied, perhaps a little too quickly. Aegwynn would have spotted the lie immediately, called her out on it. But then, Aegwynn would not have asked, because she would have already known. There were times that Jaina resented her ancient advisor's uncanny insight; she was growing used to her swiftly disappearing sense of privacy as the leader of Theramore.

Arthas—or the Lich King, his new title spoken only in terrified whispers—had been on her mind more and more in the past months, ever since the Scourge launched their latest strike against the cities of Azeroth. He'd always been there, of course, lingering like a half-dreamt shadow in the back of her mind. She would sometimes allow herself to slip back into remembering him as he once was, when he was young and golden-haired and carefree. Now, however, with the assault on Northrend, he had been pushed to the forefront of her thoughts _and_ the thoughts of everyone else as the forces of the Alliance and Horde marched to Icecrown to defeat him.

"It didn't have to be this way." Jaina's words were so soft that they were nearly lost underneath the howling of the icy winds around the Pinnacle.

"Excuse me, milady?" Lorena had begun to turn back toward the camp, sensing that Jaina had wanted to be left alone, but the dark-haired colonel stopped at the woman's murmuring voice.

"It did not have to be this way," Jaina repeated, her voice having found its strength. She turned to face Lorena and drew her brows together in contemplation. Jaina felt a sudden and powerful need to—was _confess_ the right word? She wanted someone besides Aegwynn to know what had been brewing in her head for so long.

"Do you know how often I return to that massacre at Stratholme in my mind? I wonder, Lorena, what would have happened had I not abandoned him. . ."

"You would not have been a part of that slaughter, Lady Jaina!" Lorena said, her square-jawed face aghast.

"No. . ." Jaina's cornflower eyes remained steady on Icecrown Citadel, watching the decrepit, flying Scourge creations circling the dark spires. "But there must have been some way for me to stop him, to convince him that was not the path to follow. . .and even then, even if he _had _gone on with it, there must have been some way for me to reign him in. If I had known the right thing to say to him. . .I just stumbled over everything I said that day, because I was so _shocked._"

She turned to face her colonel then, her pale hair whipping around her face. "Everyone knows that story, though. I hear the soldiers talk, even now. None of you know that he came to visit me a second time, a few days later. He asked me to come with him to Northrend."

"It would have been madness to do so."

Jaina did not respond. Lorena, as good as she was, was perhaps _too _good—one of her few failings was that she separated people into good and bad, with little room for the shades of gray Jaina herself saw in everyone. To Lorena, Jaina was good. She did a good deed by not helping Arthas murder the plagued citizens of Stratholme and she did a good deed by not following him to his doom in Northrend.

The matter was not so clear-cut to Jaina, who was always aware of the many possible outcomes any event could have, and how many paths a person could take to glory or damnation. She shivered again, this time from a bone-chill that her thick cloak could not warm.

_***_

"_I would have you with me in Northrend." Arthas' eyes were intense and tired and more than a little unsettling. The softness once inherent in his gaze was gone, leaving only a sort of fire and. . .something else. Jaina felt a pang strike her core, sharp and sickly. "Mal'Ganis is there—waiting—_mocking_ me . . ."_

"_Arthas." Jaina breathed. They stood in her modest quarters in Dalaran in front of the large window opening out onto the moonlit city. She had been in the throes of a restless slumber when she heard the pounding on her door, but quickly shook the sleep from her head when she saw Arthas looming at the threshold, his handsome face wild and shadowed. "Please don't go. Don't do this. He's luring you to Northrend on purpose, you must know that."_

_Arthas' hand sliced through the air of the dim room. The room's inky shadows shifted strangely over his broad figure. "Of course I do!" His sharp voice was still hoarse from the yelling and the smoke at Stratholme. When he continued, he spoke more softly, but it was clear to Jaina that he was already determined to follow Mal'Ganis to the wastes of Northrend. "But I've little choice. Lordaeron will be avenged."_

"_There are things so much more important than vengeance, Arthas." Jaina pleaded with him. She wanted to reach out toward him, draw him to her in an embrace, but there was something so foreign about him now that she was hesitant to be that familiar with him. Her small hands hovered awkwardly in front of her before she clenched them into fists and they dropped back to her sides. "Now that we know the origin of the plague, every mage in Dalaran is working toward a solution, and we _will_ find one. We've bested demons—we can best this."_

_One of the enchanted clocks outside tolled—the bell sounded oddly hollow at this late hour. Jaina's shoulders slumped beneath her gauzy nightdress and she ran a hand through her hair. "You're going to _die _there, Arthas."_

_He grabbed her hands in his own at that moment, bringing them to his lips, which felt fevered to the young mage. He closed his eyes and exhaled. "I need you with me, Jaina. I need your support. I. . .please. Am I to shoulder your betrayal on top of all of this?"_

_Lordaeron's brash prince had always been temperamental, but the sudden way his mood had shifted from determined to angry and now to desperate rattled Jaina. She fought down the hot tears that threatened to well in the corners of her eyes. She untangled her hands from his and stepped back, gaze averted._

"_I won't watch you destroy yourself, Arthas. I love you too much for that."_

_She did love him still—she hadn't even quite realized it herself until she said it just then. Despite what he had done in Stratholme, despite the mad path she saw him following, Jaina was connected to Arthas by some inexorable bond._

_Arthas lifted his chin and an odd look sparked briefly in his gaze before those green eyes Jaina knew so well went cold._

***

"I wonder sometimes if I did not betray him after all." Jaina said to herself.

The wind picked up again, sending a flock of black birds up into the dreary sky.


	2. Chapter 2

"Perhaps _you_ question the might of the Alliance, Lord Fordring, but not many others do—and we will proceed into Icecrown with or without the help of the Argent Crusade and _certainly _without the help of those. . .barbarians."

Varian Wrynn, King of Stormwind and leader of the Alliance, all but spat the last word. Though he did not mention them by name, those gathered in the tower at Crusader's Pinnacle knew the king spoke of the orcs. He was consumed with hatred for the greenskins, a hatred that Jaina in particular found foolhardy and dangerous.

"Varian." Tirion leaned forward across the table the three sat at, fixing the king with a steely gaze. "This fighting among the Horde and the Alliance, in the end, it's all petty bickering. We play right into Arthas' hands when we fight each other and not his forces. If this continues, he will _trample _us, because the armies of Azeroth will be too fractured to fend him off."

Jaina, though her own faith in the Light had admittedly wavered at times, admired the celebrated paladin sitting next to her. She was as exhausted by Varian's myopic views as he was.

"We have suffered greatly at the hands of the Horde, as they have at ours" Jaina said. "But that's in the past. Thrall is a good leader—not the bloodthirsty barbarian you seem to think he is. The Horde wants to protect their home the same as we protect ours. Is there any real harm in that?"

Varian's flashing eyes darted side-long toward Jaina. She could see the muscles in his scarred jaw working. He had not been pleased with her ever since the battle at Undercity, after she single-handedly teleported him, along with an entire Alliance contingent, away from the besieged city. Jaina had done it as a last resort, to avoid a full-fledged war, but she had burned the king's pride badly and he would not be so quick to forget it.

Varian's meaty fist curled around the tankard of ale in front of him. "It is only because I realize the Lich King's threat that I will _attempt _to make a truce." He looked at Jaina and then Tirion before adding, "For now."

"But at the first sign of any treachery from Thrall or that animal Garrosh, I will strike," he said, gesturing with his free hand. "The Horde grows arrogant, and they must learn that the Alliance is a threat they should take seriously."

With that, the king downed the last of his ale, pushed back his tall-backed chair, and stood. Tirion followed suit, and then Jaina.

"You have made the right decision, King Varian." Tirion said, extending his hand toward Varian to shake. His formal tone made it very clear there was no love lost between the two. "I thank the two of you for meeting with me tonight."

"And you, Lord Fordring." Jaina inclined her head, a smile brightening her pale mien. She turned to Varian and placed her hand on his arm. "I am very grateful, Varian. Thank you."

Varian's eyes settled on the woman's delicate hand, and he nodded gruffly. "We will speak more tomorrow."

The king nodded once at Tirion and left the torch-lit hall. His heavy-booted footsteps echoed as he ascended the tower's stairwell. When they were alone, Jaina looked at Tirion and shrugged.

"He's very brash," she said. "But I think he means to honor the truce, at least long enough to defeat the Scourge."

_Brash. Brash and mercurial and vengeful. _She would have used the same set of words to describe Arthas. The similarities were uncanny—and disconcerting.

Tirion shook his grey head, and for a very brief moment, Jaina thought he seemed weary, older than he should be. "It's hard to remain hopeful when he and Garrosh go for each other's throats whenever they're in the same room."

"Varian will come around," Jaina said, walking to the window overlooking the snowy Pinnacle. "He will brood about it, honestly, and as soon as we defeat the Lich King, he will very likely strike at the Horde, but until then, I think you have nothing to worry about."

"He's a good man, essentially," Jaina continued. "But he's very angry at how the Horde treated him. He blames them for his father's death, everyone knows it. For the fall of Stormwind. He's so blinded by hatred that he honestly cannot see that Thrall wants as badly as either of us to move past the enmity. I don't know how to convince him."

"He is his own man." Tirion stood beside her, still in his gleaming paladin's armor even at this late hour. "No one will be able to convince him to make peace with the Horde until he is ready himself. We can only hope."

Jaina sighed and gave Tirion a little nod. "I wish there weren't so much _hate _in his heart."

"Reminds me of someone," Tirion said, raising his brows at Jaina.

"I thought the same thing," she said at last, wrapping her arms around her waist. "But he won't be another Arthas. I will not let that mistake repeat itself."

"You are truly compassionate." Tirion smiled down at Jaina. "Should you ever tire of the arcane, you would make a fine priestess."

Jaina's nose crinkled and she laughed in spite of herself. "I could only hope for that much faith. Goodnight, Lord Fordring."

Tirion inclined his head toward Jaina. "To you as well, my lady."

Jaina lifted her pristine white skirts as she went up the narrow stairwell to her room. Her eyelids were heavy with exhaustion, and she would have loved nothing more than to be in her own room in Theramore, curled up with a book and hot tea—not here in this frigid wasteland, trying to keep Varian from ruining the only chance Azeroth had to defeat the Lich King's Scourge.

The door leading to her room creaked open under her hand, but Jaina stopped, seeing a flicker of movement in the shadows out of the corner of her eye. When she looked behind her shoulder, there was nothing in the hallway but a dimly burning torch on the wall. She furrowed her brows and turned back to her room.

"Hello." The voice sounded like that of a youth, but hollow and strange and somehow familiar. Jaina snapped her head around again to see a sandy-haired boy standing in front of her, clothed in the livery of old Lordaeron. With each flutter of the torch's flames, the boy seemed to shimmer in and out of existence. Jaina squinted, regarding the incorporeal spirit in front of her, and then her eyes widened again.

"Arthas?"


End file.
